


Certainty

by littlefrog1025



Series: GOOD WOLVES DOING BAD THINGS [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Break Up, Cute Kids, Depression, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Future Fic, Healing, M/M, Mafia AU, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Soulmates, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3666945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefrog1025/pseuds/littlefrog1025
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an embarrassing incident with Stiles, Jackson is forced to confront some things about how he handles his relationship with others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certainty

**Author's Note:**

> So many of you beautiful people asked for Jackson finding his mate during PART TWO that I had to reply with taking a break from PART TWO to write this one shot for all of you! 
> 
> I wanted to wait until PART TWO was done, so there'd be no spoilers, or nothing being ruined, since this fic takes place 6 years later, but I'll just leave that up to your discretion if you want to read it or not ;)
> 
> ***STRAIGHT SEX WARNING!!! (I love that I have to do this for some of you. Lol)
> 
> I hope you like it :)

* * *

May 2031

 

[Stiles](http://littlefrog1025.tumblr.com/post/103697652689) bangs loudly on the door. “I know you’re in there Whittemore! Open up! Now!”

“Why isn’t Uncle Jackie opening the door, _tata_ ,” Jake asks.

“Because he’s a coward,” Stiles says to his son. He bangs on the door again. “You don’t open this door in 3 seconds Jackson, I will stick my foot so far up your ass the next word out of your mouth will be Converse!”

Jake and his twin brother, Lee, laugh at their father’s cursing threat toward the beta.

“One,” Stiles counts down. “Two…”

The front door opens a peek. Stiles violently barges inside! Jake and Lee follow him into the house.

[Jackson](http://littlefrog1025.tumblr.com/post/115306643584/wtfcoltonhaynes-colton-haynes) closes the door.

“Jake, Lee. Go watch cartoons in Uncle Jackie’s TV room for me please. I’ll bring you a snack in a minute,” Stiles says.

The two five year olds take hands and walk toward Jackson’s media room.

“And close the door, too, boys.”

“Okay, _tata_ ,” Lee responds.

“Thank you,” he says to his children.

T[he twins](http://www.shutterstock.com/cat.mhtml?models=12778919&models=12778928&context_photo=92033666&page=1) are out of sight, Stiles rounds on Jackson with a fierce scowl, “What the hell is your problem?!”

Jackson’s quiet; eyes casted downward to the floor in shame. He shakes his head weakly.

“You’re shaking your head. What does that mean? ‘No’ you don’t have a problem, or ‘no’ you don’t know what that problem is,” Stiles snaps.

Jackson lifts his head, meeting Stiles’ eyes finally.

Stiles shrugs. _Well? I’m waiting for an explanation…_

Jackson opens his mouth to speak, but…nothing.

Stiles sighs. His eyes glance around, taking in Jackson’s place. It’s dark. All the curtains are closed, blocking out light from every window. The central is turned on full blast, making the whole house feel like a tundra. Nothing looks dusted, wiped down, exposed of, or organized, and it’s eerily quiet save for the air blowing through the vents.

Stiles takes a long look at Jackson: he’s in only a pair of old sweatpants with holes in them. He’s pale. Grey actually. His hair is greasy, and unkempt, and his face looks sunken in. His eyes are in a perpetual beta state of golden yellow, and the tips of his claws poke through his fingernails. His posture is low, slumped, as though he might have been continually walking around with his head hung low.

“I was letting you wallow, but this—” he gestures grandly with hands at the condition of Jackson’s house “—this is out of hand. No more. Understand?”

“Stiles,” Jackson starts, voice dry and hoarse because he’s barely spoken a word in weeks.

“No. No to whatever it is you were going to say.”

“I was going to say there’s juice boxes and cheese and fruit in the kitchen. For the boys.”

“…Oh. Well…then I’ll get them a snack. But don’t you move.”

Jackson nods.

Stiles disappears into the kitchen, and Jackson returns to his [couch](http://www.houzz.com/photos/2630102/525a-Upper-Changi-Road-contemporary-living-room-other-metro), beneath a large, comfy quilt.

He listens to Stiles shuffle around in the kitchen, then hears him swear under his breath and slam a cabinet door shut.

“Juice boxes are in the top right cabinet by the entrance. And there’s yogurt in the fridge,” he shouts at his Alpha-mate.

Stiles says ‘thank you’ in a normal tone that can’t be heard by anyone that isn’t a werewolf.

After another minute, Stiles comes out of the kitchen balancing the yogurt, two spoons, two juice boxes, and two bowls of fresh cut fruit and cheese cubes. Surprisingly, he makes his way to the media room without dropping anything and maneuvers the door ajar.

Jackson tunes out Stiles talking to his “nephews,” not wanting to eavesdrop.

Stiles quickly comes back out and makes a b-line for Jackson. “First, we are going to talk about this, then we are going to clean this ‘gold digger’s paradise’ you call a home, then you’re going to shower, because Jesus Christ, I’m not a were, but I know how awful you smell right now, and it hurts me,  _then_ we’re going to talk some more. You’ve sulked and pissed away enough valuable time already.”

“Stiles, please. The last thing I want to talk about is—”

“You and Sebastien breaking up, or the fact that you kissed me?”

“Both. And please God tell me you didn’t tell Derek I kissed you,” Jackson says, terrified.

“You think if I told Derek you’d be sitting here right now…alive? Is that what this is all about? You’re hiding from Derek? If so, then you picked a really discernible place to disappear.” Stiles takes a seat beside him. “You can tell me anything you know? You have. You trust me. Just like I trust you. Talk to me, Jackie-boy. Please.”

Jackson sees the pleading hurt in Stiles’ eyes. His Alpha-mate is worried for him. He cares.

“…Stiles… I think I might be in love with you.”

Stiles groans, rubbing the creases on his forehead. “Jesus.” He drops his hand from his forehead and looks straight into Jackson’s eyes. “Listen very closely to what I’m about to say:  **You’re not in love with me, you idiot.** ”

“Stiles, as much as I try to fight it, or deny it, I have feelings for you. Strong feelings. And it makes me sick. I feel sick and gross because I’m in love with my Alpha’s mate!”

“One more time: You’re not in love with me, you idiot.”

“Stiles—”

“You. Are. Not. Understand? You only _think_ you’re in love with me because I’m a constant in your life. I'm someone you let your guard down with. You think you want me, or you’re in love with me, but you’re really in love with the security and stability you get from being close to me.”

“I kissed you.”

“Again, because you _think_ you’re in love with me. You’re really just attracted to how comfortable you are around me, but not me as a person. All of this is really about your abandonment issues and self-destructive behavior.”

“Stiles, I don’t have—”

Stiles cuts him off with a dubious glare. Jackson quiets.

“Your birth parents, your sister, Lydia, Maxine, Isaac, Lisa, and Sebastien— all people you were crazy about, and then left you. You can't keep people at arms-length, then be shocked when they go. You need to open up and let them in.”

Jackson remains silent, eyes still, focused on his hands clenching the blanket wrapped around him as his mind drifts back to 2 years ago…

 

* * *

Jackson couldn’t have left the airport any faster if he had grown wings and flew over Paris’ cityscape to his hotel. Not only was he exhausted with the long flight and the time change, but he was nauseated by the close-quarter smells of the other passengers on the plane, and the noise of the busy airport when he landed and disembarked his plane.

The taxi to his [hotel](http://www.shangri-la.com/paris/shangrila/) didn’t smell any better, but at least it had windows he could roll down and let the Paris evening air blow in his face with the scent of soft perfumes and pastries.

Being back in France, in the same hotel, in a room that looked liked the one he had last time, that he shared with a sweet, teenage boy for 3 days, made him anxious. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to scower the city in hopes of scenting out the smell of apple spice, grass, coffee grinds, soap, and cloves, wafting off the body of a fit young man with cavernous, brown eyes the color of cinnamon.

But it was late. He was exhausted and his senses overloaded from his flight. Though night was always better for “hunting,” (darkness, and far less crowding on the streets) attempting to do so at the moment, not at his best, would be fruitless, to say the least.

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow, after I rest, I’ll go looking for my boy._

»»»

Jackson remembered everything. How could he forget?

He especially remembered Sebastien describing the small, shabby house he lived in with his little sister and mother, who worked as a housemaid to a wealthy family.

He remembered Sebastien telling him that his neighborhood wasn’t safe. That he’s been mugged, in fights with other, more dangerous boys, that his home was broken into once when he was 11 years old, and how his mother only goes out during the day, and makes sure she’s home before dark.

He remembered the sad, tearful look on his face when he told Jackson about his home and where he lived. Jackson knew he wasn’t embarrassed, but disappointed and feeling guilty for spending three days in a fancy hotel suite with a rich werewolf while his mother and sister ate heated leftovers from the night before.

But Jackson knew what he needed. He needed space, and time to himself. He needed to get away; to escape what felt like trappings he’d never break free from. The boy wasn’t used to nice things or nice people. He needed a moment to know those they existed, and he could have them, even if only for a quiet three days.

[Clichy-sous-Bois](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clichy-sous-Bois) is an isolated, little ‘burb. Jackson had to take a taxi all the way there because there is no train station, or subway. Even the cabbie told him that he had 10 minutes before he returned to the center of the city, and finding another cab driver willing enough to pick him up there, will be even more of a challenge.

Jackson nodded, understanding, but he’s a wolf, and had already sensed the area wasn’t populated with many weres or other supes. It was almost entirely human. He had an advantage as far as protecting himself was concerned.

He handed the cabbie a twenty Euro note and asked that he wait 10 additional minutes. The cabbie hedged a bit before Jackson explained to him that he’s a werewolf and protecting them both from harm won’t be a problem.

The taxi driver seemed content with Jackson’s reveal, and promised to wait 20 minutes for him, afterward, regardless if Jackson is there or not, he was leaving.

Jackson agreed to the deal.

»»»

He wandered down the sidewalk, passing rough-looking young men who sneer at him before he flashed his eyes and theirs adverted suddenly to the ground.

He’s passed by a sad-looking bakery, a small grocery store, apartment buildings with brown patches of grass around them, and a group of teens egging on a dog fight between two pitbulls.

He broke up the dog fight, with one bold boy brandishing a knife in his face before Jackson shifted into his beta form and the teen ran for his life.

A girl with big, gold hoop earrings and way too much blue eye shadow, stayed put, giving him a flirty smile as she cracked her bubblegum.

“Do you know Sebastien Deschamps?”

“Maybe,” she said with as much of an attractive smile as she could give.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Do you, or don’t you?”

“Why do you need him?”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Because if I do, you’ll leave.”

“I’m going to leave regardless.”

“I’ve never talked to a werewolf before.”

“So?”

“So, they don’t live here in France like they do in America.”

“You don’t know Sebastien Deschamps,” Jackson said with a resigned sigh. He felt their chitchat was on the verge of escalating had he not brought her back to the point at hand.

“No. Hope you find him though. He’s apparently very lucky he’s being asked after.”

Jackson gave her a small, crooked smile, then continued on his way.

 »»»

He had 3 minutes to get back to his starting point before his ride abandoned him.

_Fuck._

A looming gloom blossomed in his chest despite him knowing that tomorrow was another day, and that possibly he should come back at night. He hasn’t eaten all day, but food seemed to be of little matter to him considering the “mission” he was on to find the boy who smelled like…

_Apple spice. And coffee grinds…_

His eyes drew across the street to the [laundromat](http://farm1.static.flickr.com/2/2649083_250a5753e8.jpg). The big open windows and horrendous, bright florescent lighting gave vision to a tall, young man with short, sandy brown hair and broad shoulders moving clean, white clothing from a dryer to a folding station.

His head turned, and eyes lit up in a smile at a young girl with the same brown hair, circle around the whole place on a pair of [Heelys](http://www.heelys.com/) as she sang loudly and off-key in French.

Jackson missed that smile. It was light, and joyous, making his whole face saccharine, and the scent of apple spice embedded in his skin, fill the wolf's nose with the smell of warm, fruit pie. As he pushed open the door, he caught the young girl in his arms as she nearly barreled into him.

“ _Je suis désolé_ ,” she said with a sad, apologetic look.

“ _Claudette, regardez où vous êtes_ —” He froze, looking right at Jackson’s lofty, athletic figure in the door holding his sister gently by the arms…

Jackson heard his heart rate flutter. It was like a hummingbird's wings.

The crisp, white shirt in his hand fell to the linoleum floor, and pooled at the bright, red sneaker on his right foot.

Jackson let the young girl slip from his hold at the sharp, shuttering breath he heard [Sebastien](http://40.media.tumblr.com/fa8d23766269f5609b65f402ae839910/tumblr_mt8zhk3dYC1rkalkao5_1280.jpg) take, and saw the slight wobble of his knees while he fought to stand upright.

“ _Il est bon, ma chérie. Votre frère m'a frappé avec une boule quand je l'ai rencontré_ ,” Jackson smiled at the girl. She couldn’t have been more than 8 years old, with blue eyes and thin lips that morphed into a wide grin.

“Sebastien. Did you hit your friend with a ball? Was it in the head,” she asked with a laugh.

“No. It wasn’t in the head. He hit me here,” Jackson said, squeezing her tummy. She giggled at the tickling feeling of his hands on her belly.

Sebastien stalked over, snatched [Claudette](http://www.istockphoto.com/photo/young-girl-outdoors-18053323?st=579756e) away, and dragged her to the furthest chair from the door; plopping her down in the seat.

“ _Ow! Sebastien, qui font mal!_ ”

“ _Restez ici et ne se déplace pas. Je dois parler à mon ami_.”

Sebastien strode right toward Jackson and punched him in the face! It hurt the French boy more than it did Jackson, but it didn’t stop him from thrashing his hands at the werewolf, yelling and cursing in erratic French!

Jackson blocked his hits, begging him to stop!

Sebastien pushed him against the glass door then paced back and forth, running his hands down his face, in his hair, as he rattled off in French!

He was too upset, speaking too quickly, for Jackson to get all of it, but he caught broken pieces of what was said: _Werewolf asshole… How dare you… You left me… You can’t come back and expect everything… My heart was broken… I cried every night…_

Jackson grabbed him, trying to draw his attention and pull him from his rant. Sebastien pushed back, literally, returning to hitting and yelling against Jackson’s steel chest.

Jackson grabbed his hands, holding them tight. “Stop… Stop… Please…”

Tears welled up in Sebastien’s eyes and his bottom lip trembled.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sebastien gave one last shove against Jackson before tears ran down his distressed face.

Jackson let go of one of Sebastien’s wrist. He tentatively brought his hand up to the human's face, smoothing away the fallen tears with whispered apologies. He leaned down slowly, lips just above Sebastien’s own. The young man held still, too embarrassingly desperate for Jackson’s kiss to move.

Hesitantly, hands moved up Jackson’s back, clutching his shoulders as soft lips press against his own.

Their lips parted and Jackson slid a wet tongue inside; a slow lick to test, to tease, before warm panting breaths open mouths wider to explore.

The werewolf grew hot as his hands carded through tawny-colored hair.

Sebastien pulled at him desperately, crowding him, trying to meld their bodies together, and grinding their clothed erections against one other.

“ _Il ya des chambres pour cela_ ,” Claudette interrupted.

Sebastein broke away quickly from Jackson at his sister’s giggle. He blushed then cleared his throat. “ _M'aider avec la blanchisserie afin que nous puissions aller accueil_.”

“ _Je déteste le pliage des vêtements_ ,” Claudette protested.

“I’ll help you,” Jackson offered. He moved to the folding station, standing beside Sebastien.

“ _Quel est votre nom_ ,” Claudette asked.

“Jackson,” the beta answered, telling her his name.

She nodded, then resumed skating around the laundromat, making her brother blush with an embarrassing playground song: “Sébastien et Jackson, assis dans un arbre. K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

»»»

Sebastien laid flat on his stomach, moaning like a wanton as Jackson pounded into him on the small, twin-sized bed.

Sebastien reached behind himself to grab Jackson’s bare ass, encouraging him to go deeper. Harder.

Jackson obliged, forcing the boy beneath him to grind his cock further into the mattress.

Sebastien’s hand moved to Jackson’s head, pulling on his hair as French curses spilled from his mouth.

Jackson’s eyes faded into their beta color, and incisors pointed. A clawed hand aggressively pushed Sebastien completely into the mattress as the werewolf’s speed picked up, slamming into the younger man.

Moans turned into desperate whimpers and cries.

Jackson didn’t want this. He wanted him in the hotel suite, on soft, clean sheets; kissing every desired part of Sebastien’s body, before slowly, and gently rocking into him, feeling every inch of the drag of his hard cock sliding in and out of his boy. But Sebastien needed to get Claudette home and fed, before their mother came home from work. He needed to put the clean laundry away. And Jackson needed to call a cab service to convince to come to Paris’ roughest neighborhood and come pick him up.

Instead, when they got to Sebastien's house, Claudette ran next door to her friend, Simone’s house, to play.

Sebastien dropped the basket of folded laundry on the floor the moment he and Jackson walked inside, pushed the werewolf against the closed door, and kissed him like a man possessed. They were completely naked by the time they made it to Sebastiens’s bedroom.

Sebastien came, cock pressed hard between the bedsheets and his stomach, screaming Jackson’s name.

Jackson pulled out, flipped the younger man over, and crawled up his spent body with his dick hovering over Sebastien’s neck.

“ _Je veux goûter._ ”

“Next time. I need to scent you,” Jackson told him as he stripped his cock, leaking droplets of precum on Sebastien’s bare skin.

Sebastein moaned and squirmed, begging. “Please, my love. Please,” wanting Jackson to scent him just as badly as Jackson wanted to come all over him.

Jackson saw Sebastien’s hand snake between them and tug at his own half-hard cock.

He growled and tilted Sebastien’s head back, forcing him to bare his neck, then spunked hot, long ropes onto his presented skin with a howl.

Sebastien’s back bowed off the bed as he came a second time; cum shooting onto Jackson’s naked ass above him.

Jackson swiped the semen from his ass and Sebastien’s stomach, rubbing it into the human’s skin, along his neck and chest.

The bed was so narrow; Jackson had no choice but to collapse atop Sebastien while they both tried to regain their breath.

“ _Vous êtes tellement lourde_.”

Jackson shifted as best he could, letting the boy breathe better without his dead weight atop him. “Sorry,” the werewolf said with a gentle kiss at Sebastien’s temple.

Sebastien’s arms looped under Jackson’s, clutching at his shoulders.

Their eyes met. Sebastien’s turned wet and full of sorrow.

Jackson ran soothing fingers through Sebastien’s hair. “I’m sorry I left you. I won’t do that again.”

“I didn’t like being without you.”

Jackson wiped away the tear crawling from Sebastien’s eye. “You won’t have to be.”

“ _Je t'aime tellement que ça fait mal_ ,” Sebastien said.

“ _Je t'aime aussi_.”

»»» 

Jackson took a bath while Sebastien cooked dinner. Claudette came home with her friend, Simone, when he had dried himself and slipped his clothes back on.

The two girls bombarded him with question after question when Sebastien mentioned Jackson was a werewolf. The closest they had come to the supernatural was Simone’s grandmother, a banshee, who died last year.

Just as Jackson was about to answer his 99th question from the charming, little girls, Sebastien’s mother came home.

She wasn’t what Jackson expected. She was younger than he thought, with long legs, and dark hair pulled into a simple ponytail. She reminded him a bit of Talia, save for her Turkish ancestry which shone through Sebastien’s golden brown skin.

He’s met parents before, and was always quite the charmer, but it was the first time he ever wanted to truly make a good impression. He knew he needed to if he were to have Sebastien.

Sebastien greeted his mother at the door and took her bags from her. She kissed him sweetly as she slipped off her shoes and sat them by the door.

“ _Comment était le travail, mama_?”

“ _Même comme toujours. Long, et très épuisant_.” She caught sight of Jackson coming into the entryway. “ _Oh, bonjour. Je ne savais pas que nous avons eu un invité_.”

Sebastien blushed. “Mama, um, this is—”

Claudette ran into the room, tugging on Jackson’s hand with a big grin. “ _Ceci est Jackson, maman. Il est le petit ami de Sébastien, américain, et un loup-garou_.”

“Claudette,” Sebastien chastised his little sister.

“It’s true! _Ils s'embrassaient à la laverie. Il était très romantique_.” She grabs her mother’s hand, then Jackson’s, pulling them further into the tiny place. “Come. _Sebastien fait dîner, et Simone, et je n'ai plus de questions_.”

Jackson let himself be yanked toward the kitchen by the small, delicate hand wrapped around two of his fingers.

Sebastien gave him an apologetic look, but Jackson smiled, nodding for him to follow them inside for dinner.

»»»  

Sebastien made what he referred to as “a simple dish,” but might have been one of the best meals Jackson ever had.

Claudette and her friend, Simone, dominated the conversation at first, barking question at Jackson about being a werewolf and what his pack was like and where did he live in America, and why hasn’t he “come to visit a long time ago, if you're Sebastien’s boyfriend?”

Sebastien’s mother, [Kaya](http://www.turkishcelebritynews.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/ceyda-duvenci-in-maral-09.jpg), took note of the stumped and embarrassed looks on her son and Jackson’s face, and had mercy on them by telling her daughter to “not to be so nosy, and finish your dinner. I’m sure you’ve asked Mr. Whittemore enough questions for the day.”

Kaya smiled at him and remained polite, but Jackson can smell the scent of walnuts perfuming off her body.

_Worry. She’s worried about me. Not anxious, but…_

Jackson realized why she smelled of that particular emotion. She’s not worried about him. She’s worried about Sebastien. Her son who is apparently in love with an American werewolf she’s never met, or even heard Sebastien mention before. And now, here he is, at her little, square kitchen table having dinner as though he stops by every Sunday. She doesn’t know him. Had only met him the moment she walked through the door of her home, exhausted and eager to put her feet up, only to have her son’s “boyfriend” thrusted in her face.

Jackson was happy Sebastien wasn’t a werewolf, otherwise, he’d be able to smell the air turn to sage with Jackson’s guilt. However, Sebastien must have seen some flicker of change in Jackson, because a tender hand rested on his knee beneath the table, and a calm cooled the nervous heat inside his gut.

Simone was spending the night, so Kaya sent them both to Claudette’s room to play while the adults cleaned up the kitchen. Jackson offered to help, but as soon as he had lifted his plate, Sebastien took it from him and cleared the rest of the table.

He was left with Kaya, who ran curious and assessing eyes over him. He swallowed hard under her gaze…

“Is it alright that we speak in English? You're French is fine, but I want you to understand me completely,” she said finally.

“Yes. That’s fine.”

“Good. I do not know who you are, but in the small amount of time you have been in my presence, I can see that my son is besotted. Utterly. Though I do have concerns.”

“Please voice them.”

“I have never met you, nor have even heard of my son speak of you. I am concerned as to the mysterious presence you suddenly have. I am also concerned that you are older than Sebastien. He is of legal age, and though you are an abrupt faction in my life at the moment, I assume you are not in his. Which allows me to wonder when exactly it is that you two have met before.”

_Goddamn. She’s good. Like a Turkish-French Lydia._

“I know not what it is you do for a living, or are you intending to live in France to be with my son. I do not know what your family is like, or your pack. And I have to admit that I am very weary of you being a werewolf.”

“Mama…” Sebastien begged, feeling as though his mother had expressed a sort of prejudice against Jackson being a supe.

“Shush-shush, pet. What kind of mother would I be if I did not show concern for your well-being? Especially with Mr. Whittemore being a supernatural creature.”

“Jackson would never hurt me.”

Jackson met his eyes. “Never,” he said firmly. He draws his attention back to Kaya when he smells rosewater waft from Sebastien’s skin at his assurance. “I love your son. He means everything to me. Which is why I’ve come back for him. And yes, Sebastien and I met when he was years younger. I broke his— _both_ of our hearts, and I want to fix it.”

Sebastien smiled shyly, his cheeks turning pink.

“And I'll be honest, as a werewolf, and with what I do for a living, I lead a very dangerous life sometimes, but it will never reach Sebastien. Ever. No harm will come to him. I swear that on my life.”

Sebastien moved from the kitchen to Jackson. He slipped his hand into Jackson’s, and laced their fingers. “Mama. I trust him. _Entièrement_.”

»»»  

Jackson sat with Kaya for an hour, chatting about basic fundamental things a mother should know about her son’s boyfriend. Some of her questions gave way to a clear mistrust of supes, but particularly werewolves.

For a moment, Jackson became scared that Sebastien was only with him because his mother had disapproved of supes roaming free and out amongst the larger population of humans.

When one gets told all their life that something is wrong or bad or should be feared, a complex can develop, or the allure of wanting to know what makes those dangerous things so bad-- to rebel-- becomes an attraction.

But ‘love’ and ‘happiness’ reeked from Sebastien’s skin, and the sound of his heart doing backflips flooded Jackson's ears. His boy loved him and his fear was quickly put to rest.

With all Kaya’s concerns (some legitimate, some not), in the end she recognized that “Sebastien’s choices, are Sebastien’s choices. He’s an adult with his own mind, and his own heart.”

Jackson felt the relief seep from his lover, and squeezed his hand. They weren’t looking for permission, just approval, even in the simplest form. It meant a lot to Sebastien, so Jackson had to pretend it meant a lot to him, too. Truth be told, if he’d had his way, he and Sebastien wouldn’t have even gone back his home, but straight to Charles de Gaulle airport headed to San Francisco. However, he knew from their long talks the last time they were together, that Kaya was a big part of Sebastien’s life, so he needed to sway her in order to whisk the boy away. Playing docile, yet charming was easy for the werewolf. He’s done it twice before with his exes' parents.

Sebastien packed a few clothes in a suitcase that had seen far better days, anticipating that he’ll be spending a lot of time in the heart of Paris with Jackson.

Jackson had to promise a weary cab driver on the phone that he’d pay him 100 Euros to come to Sebastien’s house and pick them up. The cab service demanded that they wait outside the house as to make a quick getaway when the taxi arrived.

Jackson laughed, finding Sebastien’s neighborhood, not nearly as “scary” as it was made out to be. But that might be just the simple fact that he knew he was a werewolf in a territory unoccupied by any other supes, and has lived a privileged, whitewashed life thus far.

»»»   

“There was another smell on your skin,” Jackson said, dropping Sebastien’s worn suitcase by the foot of the hotel bed.

“Another smell,” Sebastien asked, his nose scrunched up in confusion.

“Before we made love in your room. I could smell someone else on you.”

Sebastien’s eyes turned downward with a look of guilt, permeating the air with the smell of sage. “…I have a boyfriend. Are you angry?”

“It’d be stupid of me to think you wouldn’t be with someone after I left.”

Sebastien knee crawls across the bed toward Jackson who’s standing at the edge. “I don’t want him. I don’t want anyone, but you. I was only with him, because I wasn’t with you.”

“I know.”

Sebastien leaned in, and kissed him. Slow, hot, and wet. “Fuck me on the balcony. Like the last time.”

Jackson swept the younger man in his arms, Sebastien’s legs hugged around his waist. Sebastien smiled gleefully as Jackson carried him to the open doors.

»»»   

Jackson had been in Paris for 9 days before he decided it was time to level with the human.

“What is this,” Sebastien asked, picking up the documents Jackson dropped on the table.

“It’s a passport and a visa. Along with a one-way ticket to San Francisco…in your name.”

“Why? Where did you get this?”

Jackson sat up straighter, a serious look on his face that caused worry through Sebastien.

“A member of my pack. Danny. He knows a lot about computers, and how to use them to his advantage. I asked him for those. Of course he was being a real big pain in the ass about it at first, but eventually he made them for me. For us. I want you to come back to the States with me. To live.”

Sebastien’s mouth dropped. “But… I thought you would move here. I thought you would live in Paris.”

“I can’t do that, Sebastien. I have a pack. Remember what I told you about Omegas, and how wolf packs have a bond?”

“ _Qui_.”

“Then you know that being away from my pack permanently, is something I can’t do. Plus, my work there with my Alpha… He needs me. So you have to come with me.”

“I have a pack, too. My mother and Claudette. They need me, too. I can not leave them all alone. I worry about mama and when she walks home for work. She needs to be safe. And Claudette, too. She’s not like the other girls in her class. She’s funny and silly. The other girls are mean to her when I am not around. I can not leave my family,” he says with soggy eyes and a quivering lip.

Jackson expected this. He dropped a few Euro on the small café table, then stood, extending his hand.

“ _Où allons-nous_?”

“Just come with me. Okay? Please.”

Sebastien took his hand, letting Jackson lead him to the curb so he could hail a cab.

»»»   

Sebastien wandered around the furnished [townhouse](http://www.houzz.com/projects/86912/boston-townhouse-renovation) admiring the sky blue walls in the living room, and the eclectic mix of modern to mid-century furniture everywhere but the kitchen, that looks very expensive, and very American.

He found Jackson in the [second bedroom](http://www.houzz.com/photos/3004774/Drew-Houston-eclectic-bedroom-san-francisco) sitting on the bed with a sly smile on his face. He walked over and straddled his thighs. “I like this apartment.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Who lives here?”

“Your mother and Claudette.”

Sebastien’s eyebrows squished together. “I don’t understand…”

“You’re worried about your mother and sister. About leaving them unsafe, and without you there to protect them. Part of that is because of your home. So I’m giving you a new one. This one. This is your room, if ever you want us to come visit.”

“ _Oh, mon Dieu… Jackson…_ ”

“I need to make sure you feel secure about everything, because I’m not leaving France without you.”

Sebastien slid off Jackson’s lap, running his hand through his hair, trying to find the words, but having none to give.

“We can enroll Claudette in [L’Ermitage](http://www.ermitage.fr/).”

Sebastien’s eyes blew wide at the easy way Jackson simply suggested they send his little sister to the very prestigious and very expensive school. “…Tell me what you do for a living.”

“I work for my Alpha.”

“Doing what?”

“Making sure his territory is protected and the rules his puts in place aren't violated.”

“Do I want to know how you do that?”

“It would be better if you didn’t ask.”

“You promised mama, and me, that you would be safe. That you would keep me safe.”

“And I will always keep that promise.” Jackson felt a little like Derek, reassuring his human lover of all he’d do to protect him, whether he had to lie, cheat, steal, or kill to do so, he would. Just like Derek would for Stiles, because making sure nothing harmful came to the other half of you felt more important than anything.  Jackson pulled Sebastien to him; the boy stood between the V-shape of the werewolf's open legs. “Do you love me?”

“ _Qui_.”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“ _Qui_.”

“…Do you want to leave with me?”

“… _Qui_.”

That’s all Jackson needed to hear. To know.

He stood, and pressed his lips to Sebastien’s mouth. Sebastien gave into the kiss, allowing Jackson to deepen it, and turn it hungry.

He turned their positions, putting Sebastien before the bed; the back of his knees bumping against the bed frame.

Jackson encouraged the younger man to lie back on the bed with a gentle push. He crawled over him, stopping at his waist, and unzipped his pants…

 

* * *

“I told you, that I would never force you into therapy like I was…but I think I have to renege on that promise now, Jackson.”

Jackson knew this was coming. Stiles cares about him. A lot. But Jackson's insecurities are manifesting in dangerous ways. Dangerous because if Derek ever found out that Jackson crossed a line with his mate, abandonment issues, be damned. Beta, no beta—he’d kill him.

“I want to fix this thing looming over you like a dark cloud. I want all the shit you got bottled up gone, so you find love and happiness, instead of mistaking how much you love me, for being _in_ love with me. Marin gave me a list of really good therapists in the city. She circled the best one, a friend of hers.” Stiles sits a folded piece of notebook paper atop the coffee table. “I know I’m making you do this, but please take it in as much of it as you can.”

“I’ll try,” he says.

“That’s all I ask. That...and for you to take a motherfucking shower! Dear God, Jackson!”

“Alright! Jesus, Stiles!”

Jackson broke from the sofa and dropped the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Make sure you brush your teeth, too.”

Jackson flips Stiles off as he makes his way to the master bathroom. 

»»»   

Stiles says they're going to clean Jackson’s place, but what he really means, is that he had hired a cleaning service to come and scrub the place from top to bottom, while he, Jackson, and the boys go race model boats on [Spreckels Lake](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spreckels_Lake) at Golden Gate Park.

Lee had gained a love of boats and all things nautical when Jackson took the twins on a [Ride the Duck tour](http://sanfrancisco.ridetheducks.com/) for fun. After that, Lee became obsessed with boats, ships, pirates, the Navy, all of it. If it involved a vessel and water, Lee was enthralled. Jake was only mildly interested, but nowhere as near as his twin brother.

As a result, Jackson spoiled Lee with books about ships, along with toy boats.

He spoiled Jake, too, but at the moment, Jake is highly interested stars and planet, and less about boating.

Jackson was an incredible babysitter, and all around “uncle,” which surprises everyone, even Jackson.

The moment the twins are born, Jackson finds himself more protective than he’s ever been of something. He loves those two boys and fights Scott tooth-and-nail sometimes for their attention and company. Another stupid thing for them to compete over, but more often than not, Jackson usually wins out. Particularly, when Allison needs all of Scott’s attention during their attempts to conceive their daughter, Natalie, through [IVF](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_vitro_fertilisation).

Jackson seizes any and every opportunity to baby-sit Jake and Lee, or tag along to whatever "baby’s day out" the parents of the pack go on with the children. Most of the pack comes along, too, but at times Boyd, Erica, and Danny find feeble reasons to bow out of it. Sometimes Cora and her wife, Zoë, skipped out as well, but for other, more personal reasons everyone understood.

He loved those little boys. They sparked something in him that lay dormant for a while. So dormant that Jackson had no idea he wanted it until they were brought into the world.

He realized he wanted to be a father.

And when he finally acknowledged his desire for it, it made his wolf restless with the desire to mate and breed. Hence, his overly romantic gesture of flying to Paris and to bring Sebastien back to San Francisco with him.

It was far from the only reason he wanted Sebastien, but it was the loudest. It thumped in his chest and grated in his ears; wanting to keep the boy forever and have a family with him.

“Lee. Not so close to the water, alright, babboo,” Stiles tells him.

“I’m not,” Lee whines in return.

“Don’t make me come and get you, young man.”

Jackson snorted at Lee’s heavy sigh as he backed up further from the edge of the lake.

“You know you can’t keep calling him ‘babboo’ in public. One day he’s going to turn 12 and be utterly mortified.”

“Then I will have done my job as a father.”

“You’re the worst sometimes, you know that,” Jackson says with a smile.

“I’m pregnant.”

Jackson’s head whips to Stiles who lets a corner of his mouth slide up in a grin, happy to have gotten the reaction he wanted from Jackson.

“Derek know?”

“Of course Derek knows! He’s the one that told me. He said I smelled sweet again, like the last time I was pregnant. You’re the only one in the pack I’ve told so far. Haven’t even told my dad yet.”

“You think he’ll freak out? In a bad way?”

“Not in a bad way, but he’ll be nervous. Derek is. Not many males make it through a second pregnancy.”

“Are… Are you… Are you…going…to, you know…keep it?”

“Yes, of course! It’s my child, Jackson!”

“But—”

“I’ll tell you like I told Derek: as long as you all are there for me, like the last time—”

“That you bitched about your whole pregnancy.”

“—then I see me making it through with this child,” Stiles says, ignoring Jackson’s comment. “And I didn’t bitch about it the whole pregnancy.” And failing.

“Pretty much,” Jackson grumbles, just to irritate his Alpha-mate.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“…You know we’ll be there for you, Stiles. Especially for Derek, who you know is going to be pulling his hair out the entire time.”

“I don’t know about ‘pulling his hair out’, but I definitely saw at least three grey hairs sprout up since we found out I was.”

“You know if it came down to either you, or the baby, he’d choose you. Always.”

“And I’d choose the baby. It’s different when you’re the one that carries the kid. I feel ‘him’. Even now.”

“Stiles. Don’t break this pack up. It’s not going to survive without you. _Derek’s_ not going to survive without you.”

“Jesus! It’s not like I’m dying, or already gone! There’s just a higher risk the second time around, but it’ll be fine! I promise.”

Jackson heard the off-beat of Stiles’ heart, suggesting even he had doubts, and was scared. But in no way was Jackson going to add to that.

“Okay. I believe you, Stiles. I trust you.”

 

* * *

_What the fuck am I doing here? Christ, I just want to go home._

Jackson’s leg shakes nervously, and his skin is hot, as he sits uncomfortably in the cushioned chair just outside [Dr. Lucille Buraun](http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTk2NTk1MzI2NF5BMl5BanBnXkFyZXN1bWU@._V1_SX640_SY720_.jpg), Ph.D’s private office.

The door opens and a young woman comes running out in tears! Dr. Buraun steps out of the room a second too late; the young woman is probably halfway to her car already. She practically flew out of there.

“Notify her husband and her father please. And tell them to call me immediately if she isn’t home soon,” Dr. Bruaun tells her receptionist, who nods her response before picking up the phone. “Mr. Whittemore?”

Jackson turns his attention to the doctor, unaware she even knew he was there given the commotion.

“Uh, y-yes?”

“Are you not, Jackson Henry Whittemore III,” she says with a playful grin.

He nods dumbly, suddenly frightened.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Um…yeah…sure. I guess.”

Jackson uses all the strength he has to move his legs to walk toward the inner office and not flee like the young woman who did moments ago.

He slips into the [room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/152397/Russian-Hill-modern-living-room-san-francisco), just standing there with his hands in his pockets, trying to not look…stupid.

She closes the door. “I’m sorry about that earlier. She’s a very sensitive patient and I… She’ll be fine,” she says, sounding as though she were trying to reassure herself more than anyone.

“Are you a supe,” he blurts out.

“No. Just plain human. Sorry. Is that an issue for you?”

_And here we go…_

“No,” he lies, grateful she’s not a supe and can detect his fib.

“Is that the truth?”

_Fuck._

“…No. I’d prefer if you were a supe. Particularly a werewolf. So I’d feel more comfortable, but you’re a friend of Marin’s, so…I guess you’re to be trusted.”

“Thank you, for being so honest. It’s appreciated. Please. Have a seat.”

Jackson hesitantly takes a seat in one of the tufted, leather chairs across from the sofa where Dr. Buraun sits.

“How do you know Marin?”

“We’re both in the Hale pack.”

“That’s a very diverse pack from what I hear. Are you a werewolf, or another species of supe?”

“Werewolf.”

“Born or bitten?”

“Bitten.”

Jackson takes note of her taking notes on the first page of a leather-bound journal.

“How long have you been in the Hale pack?”

“10 years.”

“Where you bitten by the Alpha?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you feel about being bitten? Did you ask for ‘the bite’?”

“Being a wolf is not a problem for me. That’s not why I’m here,” he says matter-of-factly, wanting to nip that in the bud.

“Why are you here then, Mr. Whittemore?”

It’s suddenly hot again and Jackson feels anxious. “Can I…” He makes a circular motion with his index finger. Before she can answer, he’s up, wandering around the room, trying to satisfy his nerves.

“Is this the first time you’ve ever gone to therapy?”

“How can you tell,” he responds sarcastically, then sighs when he sees her write something down in her notes.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here, Mr. Whittemore.”

“Jackson. You can call me Jackson.”

“Why are you here, Jackson?”

“You don’t have any pictures around. This office is really bare.”

“I know. I don’t want anything to distract my patients,” she teases.

Jackson is too on edge to take notice of her joke. “Stiles would hate this room. He likes…color, and clutter. He’s a bit of a pack rat.”

“What’s a ‘Stiles’?”

Jackson can’t help but to laugh. “Stiles is my Alpha-mate’s name. Well, his nickname. His real name is an abomination. His dad is Polish and wanted him to have a good Polish name, but no one knows how to say it properly except the two of them. And Stiles’ mother, but… She passed away when we were 11 years old.”

“Wow. You’ve know your Alpha-mate that long?”

“Longer. Since pre-K… Huh. I’ve known him a year longer than McCall and Lydia. Never realized that before…”

“Did you like his mother? You sounded mournful when you mentioned her.”

“I didn’t know her. I knew Stiles, but… We weren’t really friends until I was turned. I dated his best friend through high school though, until our Junior year of college.”

“Why weren’t you friends?”

Jackson looks everywhere but at the doctor. She’s right; no distraction. Not even the sunny sky just outside the expansive windows is enough to gain his complete attention from her question.

“You sound very close to your Alpha-mate now,” she says, filling the silence when it becomes clear Jackson doesn’t want to answer her last question.

“I am. We are.”

“Are you closer to him than everyone else in the pack?”

Jackson catches himself nodding in response. “Yeah. Except Danny. They’re both human. Does that mean something?”

“Should it?”

“Are you going to do that annoying thing where I ask a question and you answer it by posing one of your own?”

She laughs outright. “I might, but it’s only to get you to talk. To make you comfortable. See? I answered directly.”

Jackson smiles dryly.

He makes his way back to his chair.

She waits patiently.

“…Stiles made me come. After I had a breakdown.”

“Why did you have a breakdown?”

“I was in love. With the…sweetest, smartest, sexiest boy I’d ever met… Then he left me. He moved back to Paris.”

“Do you know why?”

The claw on his right thumb snaps out in his fist. He pushes it into the palm of his other hand, hoping the pain will stop his eyes from watering.

It doesn’t.

“Stiles said I pushed him away. That I push everyone away,” he says in a broken voice; a tear running down his chiseled face.

“Do you feel that’s true?”

“He wasn’t my mate, but… I love him so much. And I miss him, too.”

“When did you two break up?”

“Almost two years ago. I thought I was over it. Over him, but then… I kissed Stiles one night. I thought I was in love with him, so I kissed him.”

“Did Stiles reciprocate the kiss?”

Jackson shakes his head.

“Were you upset about him rejecting you?”

“…Yes.”

“Is that when you had a breakdown?”

He nods.

He barricaded himself in his house. Refusing to see or talk to anyone. One-by-one the pack called and left voicemails on his cellphone, asking him if he were alright, and if there was anything they could do for him. It was all so caring and selfless that it made Jackson feel worse.

After a couple weeks, Danny came over. Or tried to. Jackson changed the security code to the gate around the property, as well as the locks for the front and back door. Danny kept calling but Jackson wouldn’t answer. He text Stiles and asked him to tell Danny to go away, then took the battery out of his phone to further ignore his pack.

It had been 3 more weeks since Danny’s visit before Stiles showed up with the twins.

“Rejection is hard. To say the very least.”

“I crossed a line with Stiles. He’s been so good about it all.”

“Should he not be?”

“If my Alpha ever found out, he’d kill me. Literally. He and Stiles are mates. Completely.”

“They have a soul-bond?”

Jackson nods.

“Well, that’s beautiful. And very lucky. I hear some mates do even meet until later in life, when they’re nearing their sixties almost.”

“My Alpha’s niece met her mate when she was 13 years old. And his parents met when his mother was 15 years old, and his father was 18 years old.”

_At least that’s the age people think Theo was._

“Are there any other mates in your pack, Jackson?”

He nods again. “Yeah. Aside from Stiles and Derek, there’s four more pairs of mates. One of them is a werewolf I was involved with.”

“Was that awkward? Dating a fellow pack member?”

“Yes. Especially when he wanted to stop seeing me, then found his mate.”

“Do you like his mate?”

“Freya? Now, I do, yeah. She’s cool. Tough, and really strong. She’s definitely not to be fucked with. Isaac is crazy about her. He’d jump in front of a train for her if he thought it’d make her smile. He’s an idiot.”

“How many other serious relationships have you had?”

“Aside from Lydia, Sebastien, and Isaac? Two. Maxine was a yoga instructor, and Lisa was a manager at Victoria Secret.”

“So you’re not strictly attracted to men?”

“No. I like both men and women.”

“Did all your exes break up with you?”

“No. Not Lydia. It was a mutual thing then, but… Yeah. I’m always the dumpee, and not usually the dumper.”

“And what do your exes say when they break up with you?”

Jackson thinks back to every nasty break up he’s had, and he wants nothing more than to punch a very large hole in the wall, and break the glass coffee table in front of them.

“…That I’m distant. Not affectionate enough. Cold. Selfish. Vain.”

“Are you those things?”

“On a good day,” he tries to joke.

“Are you lonely?”

It sounded like a simple question, but it felt like the most loaded one Jackson’s ever had posed to him. The answer is obvious, more than obvious, but answering honestly feels desperate to him. It feels whiny and weak. Something Scott, or Isaac, wouldn’t hesitate to answer truthfully while shedding buckets of tears.

But isn’t that his exact “problem?” He’s not like them. He’s not open, and truthful. He’s closed off and hiding. He’s _always close enough to see, but never really insight_ , as Sebastien told him.

“Isn’t everyone,” he evades.

“Most, yes.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But I asked about you, specifically. Are _you_ lonely, Jackson?”

“I’m not looking for a mate.”

“Yes, you are.”

He’s taken aback by her calling him out.

“You’re werewolf. Being alone is worse than the death it leads you to when you’re a wolf. Torture always is. But I get the feeling that even if you weren’t a werewolf, you’d be just as lonely, and afraid. Maybe more so, because you’d have no pack to turn to.”

“Most weres find their mates. I’ll find mine, too. Eventually.”

“But you know you won’t until you’ve changed some things about how you behave in a relationship.”

“They don’t come with manuals, you know! No one can teach you how to be a good boyfriend," he snaps.

“However, there are some things that are obvious.”

"Like don’t push people away, you mean,” he says with a snarky tone.

“I don’t know you well enough yet to determine if that’s a dilemma regarding how you handle relationships.”

“…It might be,” he says softly, even surprising himself at the admission. Tears flood his eyes and he stifles a sob with a hand over his mouth.

He doesn’t want to look at her, so he focuses on the tipped point of the [Transamerica Pyramid](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transamerica_Pyramid) in the background.

Silence fills the space between them. She’s giving him time to settle down his emotion, and she can’t be the one that always speaks. It’s not her session.

Jackson rubs the center of his palm where the (now healed) hole was that he punctured into his own skin. There’s a bit of blood, but he continues rubbing it like wet paint, up and down the length of his palm. “I’m sick of people leaving me,” he says finally, eyes still on the skyscraper. “If I figure out why they do, maybe they’ll stop.”

“Maybe they will,” she says with a hopeful smile.

 

* * *

One year later…

 

“She’s gorgeous, Jackson.” Dr. Buraun hands Jackson back his cellphone. “What’s her name again?”

“She’s named after Stiles’ mother. Claudia Jacqueline Stilinski-Hale. Lydia and Jordan are her godparents, but her middle name was in honor of me,” he says with a proud smile.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment.”

“Everyone calls her ‘CJ’, but I call her ‘Jackie’. She’s only 3 months old and can sit up on her own, and she’s babbling. She’s so smart already,” Jackson brags.

Dr. Buraun takes notice of the large smile on Jackson’s face as he swipes through picture after picture of CJ on his cellphone. “Do you want kids, Jackson,” she asked abruptly.

“I’m a wolf,” he shrugs.

“Jackson,” she says with a warning tone. “We talked about this. About you answering me indifferently.”

He sees the serious look on her face. They did talk about it. At nauseaum. Until Jackson relented and agreed that he avoids answering things directly with apathetic shrugs and passive-aggressive remarks. She gave him an “assignment” then: for one week he was to answer any question posed to him—no matter what the question—with utter truth. No holds bar.

At first it was easy, and nowhere near as complicated for someone with Jackson’s personality, but then he stolen a parking space from a middle-aged woman in a dented minivan with her four screaming kids outside [Crate & Barrel](http://www.crateandbarrel.com/). She shouted out her window at him, asking what his problem was, and without thinking he responded: “I have very little consideration for other people’s feelings.”

He nearly collapsed at his own admission, and ran into the fast food joint, heading right to the men’s restroom to breathe.

When he came out he saw the woman with her kids in the kitchen department.

He slid by them unnoticed, managing to drop a hundred dollars in her purse with a scribbled “Sorry about the parking space” note attached to it, before leaving the store without the towel rack he came in there for.

He sighed and put his phone back into his pants pocket. “Yes, I want kids.”

“Did you always want kids?”

“No.”

“When did you realize you wanted them?”

“The first time I held Jake and Lee.”

“Was there anyone in particular you wanted kids with?”

“You’re being coy,” he says; an accusation he’s lobbed at her before.

“I’m…circumventing.”

Jackson snorts.

“Okay, fine,” she relents. “Did you want children with Sebastien?”

“Yes. He’s the only person I’ve ever wanted to have kids with.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know… Lydia and I were so young. Plus, she always seemed…hard, and a little too proactive; not the way I pictured a mother to be. Of course, now that she’s with Jordan I can see I was only slightly wrong, because I mean, her daughter, Beth, is only three, but Lydia’s already got her heart set on her going to either Standford, CalTech, or MIT. Maxine made it really clear she didn’t want kids. Isaac wanted kids, but… He just seemed like a big kid himself, and I felt like I was going to end up parenting him and the kid. Lisa might have been a good mother, but she didn’t see me as father material, so…”

“And Sebastien?”

“I wanted everything with him, but I didn’t act like it.”

“I don’t know about that. You flew all the way to Paris to tell him how much you love him. You bought his mother an apartment in a safe neighborhood, helped put his sister in a nice school.”

“I did all that for me. Not him. I knew he wouldn’t leave them if they weren’t taken care of, so I made sure they were, so I could have him, all to myself 6,000 miles away… And a year later he left right back for Paris.”

There’s still a burning acid taste left in his mouth when he talks about Sebastien. It’s not anger. At least not with Sebastien. It’s just hard talking about the boy who broke his heart so badly it sent him to therapy. Especially when he still dreams about him, and keeps an old T-shirt buried deep in his closet, taking it out to sleep in when those dreams wake him in the middle of the cold night.

“Would you change any of it? Would you go about it differently; how you pursued him?”

“…No.”

 

* * *

8 months later…

 

Jackson plays with CJ on the floor, helping her stack her generic building blocks.

Stiles walks in. He dumps two handfuls of Cheerios on a napkin and places it on the floor beside his daughter. He hands Jackson a beer, then collapses on the sofa with his own bottle of [Sierra Nevada ](http://www.sierranevada.com/)with an exhausted sigh.

“Can you believe this is the first time I’ve sat down all day,” Stiles says, stretching out on the [sofa](http://www.houzz.com/photos/170484/Woodvalley-House-contemporary-family-room-baltimore).

“Is it okay for her to be eating off the floor,” Jackson asks.

“It’s not directly on the floor. It’s on a napkin. And it’s fine. That’s where it’s going to end up anyway,” Stiles says with nothing but fatigue in his tone as he sips his beer.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just have three kids and a bunch of worries.”

They share a smile at Stiles’ half-joking honesty.

“How’s therapy?”

“Fine. Good. I only go once every two weeks now.”

“Has she suggested you try dating again soon?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says softly with a cheerless tone.

“Yeah? When?” Stiles sounds more enthusiastic about it than Jackson.

“Few weeks ago… Two months ago.”

“What?!” Stiles sits up. “Jackie-boy, why didn’t you say anything? Have you been dating?”

“No. Not really. Don’t really feel the need to go out with someone right now.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow sharply at Jackson, and he knows he’s in for it. “I smell bullshit.”

“Stiles—”

“Like a big, steaming pile of bullshit.”

“Stiles—”

“Why are you afraid of dating right now?”

“I’m… I’m not ready.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know… Just… I’m doing really good in therapy. With figuring out all my insecurities and fears and disappointments. I’m finally— _finally_ —over Sebastien. I threw out that T-shirt of his 5 weeks ago, and deleted pictures of us from my computer, and his number from my cellphone. It was hard doing those things, Stiles. Like I understand, I accept it now, that he’s not coming back, and I shouldn’t go after him again. We have to go our separate ways and live our lives. I’m dealing with the reality of all that. So I want… I want time to breathe, and be by myself. Do you know I’ve never been without someone? There’s always someone I’m in a relationship with, or dating, or just sleeping with. The guy who can’t make them stay, hates being alone... And, you know, this is the first time I’ve been alone…and I kind of like it.”

Stiles nods, understanding. “Okay. Okay. I get it. I do. I’m sorry.”

“…Sorry I snapped at you.”

“No. I get it. I was pressuring you. To talk and to start seeing someone. Go at your own pace.”

“I know you just want what’s best for me, and you think that’s a mate—”

“Not only that, but…Yeah. I want you to take care of someone, and more importantly, for someone to take care of you.”

Jackson pulls CJ into his lap. “I want that, too, but when I’m ready. That’s usually when mates happen anyway, right? When the weregods think you’ve mastered love’s version of The Water Temple level in Legend of Zelda.”

“I have half a chub because you said that. But yeah, most of the time it seems to work like that. Unless you’re Peter.”

“How does Peter, of all people, find his mate? How does he get a woman like [Yvette](http://hobdragon.gdyerwebsolution.netdna-cdn.com/reel/wp-content/gallery/tika-sumpter-galleria/tika-10.jpg)?”

“Maybe he really is an onion.” Jackson gives him a curious look. “Something Talia told me years ago about Peter having layers, being deeper than we realize.”

Jackson snorts.

“What I said. What blows my mind is how nice she is. She bakes muffins and hugs everyone.”

“I just can’t believe how stunning she is, and that she likes fucking Peter.”

Stiles shrugs. “Oh, well. Alas, I have finally been replaced. The torch has gone out.”

“Bet that makes Derek happy.”

“Ecstatic. I think it’s why he’s so accommodating to Yvette.”

“Plus, you know, she’s really fucking hot.”

“Can’t disagree with that,” Stiles says casually.

“Surprisingly.”

Stiles rolls his eyes then lies back down on the sofa.

 

* * *

5 months later…

 

He’s standing in the middle of the baby food aisle with [CJ](http://sheymarinphotography.com/website/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/olivia1_0008.jpg) on his hip. And if it weren’t for the stock boy standing just a foot away, he’d have dropped the 1 year old on the floor.

The stock boy manages to snatch CJ from Jackson’s arms before he tumbles to the ground in a heap. He takes down a display of Gerber’s mushed sweet potatoes when he falls. Broken and splattered jars all around him as he twitches on the linoleum.

He can’t breathe. The harder he tries, the tighter his chest becomes.

He manages to ball his hands into fist as his body breaks out into a cold sweat.

CJ is screaming her head off.

And [**the girl**](http://www.plusmodelstoday.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/TaraLynn4s.Oliveryx500.jpg) is doing no better. The contents of her designer, red briefcase spilled out when it hit the floor with her. She’s wearing only one red heel, and clutching her chest as her pale green eyes lock onto Jackson’s own eyes.

She looks like she’s shivering, and all he wants to do is wrap her in his arms, holding her until she’s warm.

Tears fall from her eyes.

Jackson’s eyes fade gold.

She convulses with a groan.

His canines grow.

Her fist strengthens tighter at her chest.

He lets out a frustrated growl. His wolf wants out. He wants free. He wants _her_.

He didn’t come here for this. He’s baby-sitting so Stiles and Derek can have a date night. Scott and Allison have the twins. Taking on all three Stilinski-Hale children in addition to their own toddler would have been entirely too much. Lydiaand Jordan took their daughter, Beth, to Palo Alto to visit with Jordan’s parents. So Jackson volunteered. And a simple trip to the store for more baby food has lead to him wolfing out in a paralyzed state.

He hears a sharp intake of breath over CJ’s panicked screams.

The woman. She’s slowly fading into functionality.

The wolf wants to capture her, run through the woods under moonlight, then sink his teeth into her neck while fucking her ravenously.

Jackson feels his limbs move under his direction. He gets to all fours and growls.

The woman’s left eye is covered by her hair, but he sees the right one grow wide and dilated at him.

He crouches, ready to attack— Cries. Innocent, heavy cries. Pleading and scared.

But the wolf wants— Loud sobs that almost sound like howls…

_Jackie…_

He turns behind him, looking up at the scared little girl being clutched in the arms of a stranger, who appears just as frightened as Jackson’s glowing eyes glance at him.

He digs deep. Breathing… Trying to find it.

_Danny. Stiles. Pack. Family. Home. The twins. Jackie. Pack. Family. Home. Pack. Family. Home. Pack. Family. Home. Pack. Family. Home._

The wolf heels. Anxious, but heeled.

Pointed incisors, claws, beta eyes, and hairy cheeks return to human-like features with intense blue eyes.

“I’m sorry about…that,” he says, pointing to the broken jars of baby food all over the floor. “I need my niece back now.”

CJ stops crying the moment she’s in Jackson’s arms. And it’s then that he notices her eyes. Her bright, **violet-colored eyes**.

“Oh, shit.”

She wraps her tiny arms securely around his neck. He squeezes her tight, letting her know he’s there for her, completely.

“Is-Is everything alright, sir,” the stock boy asks.

Jackson notices the stunted looks of a dozen onlookers staring at him.

Including _her_.

“…Yes. I’m fine. I… I have to go.”

He’s already out of the aisle before he hears her plea: “Wait!”

»»»  

CJ is fine. More than fine. She’s happy and smiling, playing with the toy trucks Stiles got her for her birthday. She’s into motion. Things on wheels and the ability to move them along by her own hand. So she has a slew of toy trucks, cars, and airplanes, gender-bias be damned.

Jackson on the other hand is a wreck. He’s pacing up and down the [living/dining room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/15331374/Saratoga-Hilltop-Contemporary-contemporary-living-room-san-francisco), claws extended as the day’s events flicker through his mind on a reel.

He stops. Then stands still, taking a deep breath. He retracts his claws.

He hears the front door open then slam shut. Two sets of feet run through the house toward him.

“What happened?! Is she alright,” Stiles says. He and Derek run to their daughter playing happily on the floor. Stiles picks her up, holding her and kissing her little head. Derek sniffs her, taking deep whiffs.

“She smells like moonflower. She smells happy,” he says.

At that moment, CJ giggles at her daddy’s nose running through her soft hair.

“But I smell someone else on her skin.”

“I fucked up,” Jackson blurts out.

“Jackson. What happened? Please tell us,” Stiles pleads.

“She wolfed-out in the store.”

Stiles gasps. “I told you she was a were,” Stiles beams at Derek.

Derek takes her from Stiles’ hold and kisses her cheek. “I can’t believe I missed it. My little girl wolfed out for the first time,” he smiled proudly.

“Jackson, CJ wolfing-out is not your fault. It’s not a fault at all, in public or in private. You know that. Why would you think you fucked up because of it?”

“Because about a baker’s dozen of people saw, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to. She has to wolf-out. It’s part of her werewolf development.”

“I know. But she’s not a werewolf.”

Stiles and Derek stand stone cold, giving their beta curious stares.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles says.

“Oh, my God…” Derek says, completely understanding.

“What? Somebody tell me now!”

“…Her eyes turned purple,” Jackson answered.

The room turns deaf with silence. neither them knowing what to say or do for a solid minute.

“Oh… My… God…” Stiles says softly. He sits down on the sofa, handing covering his slack jawed mouth. His eyes are wild with every thought racing through his head imprinted on his face.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t…” Derek’s eyes fill with tears as he stares at CJ like the 8th Wonder of the World.

“I—”

Derek doesn’t even ask. His spine stiffens, too, and sight lands toward the front door.

The doorbell rings gaining Stiles' attention. He sees Derek and Jackson's wolf-y sense tingling. “Human or were?”

“Human,” Jackson and Derek answer.

“Who?”

“I don’t—” Derek starts.

“Her.” Jackson’s eyes burn gold. His claws snap out and teeth turn into razor-like points.

CJ’s face scrunches up in unhappiness. She’s on the verge of tears.

“Stiles. Mountain ash. Now,” Derek says.

“What? Why?”

“Now!”

Stiles grabs a hidden tin of mountain ash from under the coffee table.

“At Jackson.”

“Are you—” He doesn’t need to finish. The look on his husband’s face tells him all he needs to know.

Stiles throws the mountain ash toward Jackson, manipulating it to keep him beyond the patio doors, outside the house.

Stiles closes the doors.

Jackson is snarling and spitting and growling, banging against the glass.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Take CJ. Go to our room and stay there until I say so.”

“Derek, no! What the hell are you--”

“What did I say, Stiles,” Derek barks, eyes blood red.

Stiles takes CJ from Derek. He kisses him hard on the mouth. “Do not do anything that makes me lose you.”

Stiles heads upstairs with CJ.

The doorbell rings again. Twice with an urgency.

Derek shifts into his beta form. He walks to the front door, getting a whiff of citrus.

_Nerves. Impatience._

He can still hear Jackson growling and snarling, fighting against the mountain ash barrier.

The doorbell rings again.

“Who is it?”

“My-My name is Gemma Mars. I was at the store today when you were there with your daughter.”

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you. Please open the door.”

“How did you get this address?”

“By really shady means, and I apologize for that, but I just… I really needed to see you after what happened.”

“Nothing happened. Do you understand? Nothing happened at the store.”

“Are you really going to deny this? Are you scared? Do you know what happened? Look, just let me in and I’ll explain.”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s called a soul-bond. When I bumped into you at the store and our eyes met, it connected both of our souls. See, we’ve been together for eons, but separate in this lifetime until now and— Oh, my God this sounds so stupid.”

Derek opens the front door. Beta form gone for his stubbled, handsome face.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I have the wrong—”

A werewolf howl from within the house interrupts her. She shivers, spiking the air with a minty burst of smell; her arousal reacting to Jackson’s wolf.

“You’re his mate… I knew it. I mean, I thought that might be…”

“I’m looking for a tall guy, with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes. He has a daughter.”

“You’re talking about Jackson, but he doesn’t have a daughter. The little girl you saw him with is my child. I’m his Alpha, Derek.”

“Oh, shit. I am so sorry. And I’m so sorry for saying ‘shit’— Dammit! Oh, shit.” She buries her embarrassed face in her manicured hands.

Derek chuckles. “It’s okay. Come in.”

She steps inside. Derek closes the door.

“I just want to say that I know that an Alpha’s den is sacred and I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds, especially with writing down your beta’s license plate number and calling my friend who works at the DMV to find out the address of the owner of the car.”

“He was driving my car while I was with my husband in our other car.”

“I’m not this girl. I don’t do things like this, but… I found my mate, and I just had to.”

“I know the feeling. Let’s go and try to calm Jackson down, okay?”

“Okay.”

She follows Derek further into the house, to the living/dining room.

Jackson bangs against the glass, shifted into his beta form, howling in between each fist and scrape against the hard glass when he sees Gemma enter the room.

She takes a determined step toward him. Derek pulls her back. “No. He’s out there for your protection. Trust me. Stay here. I’m going upstairs for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Derek hurries upstairs.

He walks inside the master bedroom.

Stiles is sitting on the bed, trying to soothe a crying CJ. Her eyes are bright amethyst.

“What’s going on?”

“Jackson met his mate.”

“What?!”

“She’s downstairs. Her name is Gemma. They met at the store today. I think when they soul-bonded, CJ wolfed out, thinking Jackson was hurt, or being overwhelmed by all the supe power happening in front of her. Jackson must have anchored himself, grabbed CJ, and left, coming here.”

“And then called us. That’s why he thinks he fucked up. He thinks he told the whole world our daughter is a werelion by meeting his mate. That’s ridiculous!”

Derek smiled. “You want to go downstairs and tell him so?”

“You bet you ass I do,” Stiles says, scooting off the bed with CJ in his arms.

Derek follows Stiles down the stairs and into the living/dining room—

“Um, okay. I guess it can wait,” Stiles says.

Derek snickers, then pulls Stiles quietly out of the room as Jackson and Gemma continue kissing in the open patio doors.

 

* * *

2 weeks later…

 

Stiles is making sandwiches with Lydia in the [kitchen](http://www.houzz.com/photos/15331473/Saratoga-Hilltop-Contemporary-contemporary-kitchen-san-francisco) when Jackson comes in. Wet, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. “The natives are getting restless.”

“We know. We know,” Lydia says impatiently. “Were we pains in the ass when you had to make us lunch, and dinner, Stiles?”

“Very. Here. Take this hummus outside,” Stiles says, handing Lydia the tray of dip and vegetables.

“Are a bunch of kids going to eat hummus,” Jackson asks.

“They will if it’s all I’m giving them.” Lydia exits out the backdoor toward the pool.

After being alerted about Jackson meeting his mate, Gemma, the whole pack knew some bonding (and investigating) needed to occur. They planned a weekend at Stiles and Derek’s house with all their kids.

Three days was not nearly enough time to get to know Gemma, and feel comfortable around her, but they all had their own lives and homes to get back to, and no matter how big “the pack house” may be, it’s not going to peacefully hold all 19 members and their kids. So, they resigned themselves to periodically stop by Jackson’s place, or “the pack house,” to visit and get further acquainted with Gemma.

Sties catches Jackson looking out the windows at Gemma playing near the shallow end with the twins. “You’re different,” he says with a thoughtful smile.

“It’s her,” Jackson replies.

“No. It started before her. Therapy works for you. Talking things out and being open looks good on you, Jackie-boy. You’re closer to everyone now. Even Scott.”

“Dr. Buraun doesn’t think I need to come anymore. She thinks we’ve made really good breakthroughs, and that I’ve improved a lot on the things that scared me.”

It’s good news, but there’s a worried, saddened look on his face.

“And now you have a new fear: ‘what are you going to do now that it’s over’. I’ve been there. It’s more frightening than the bullshit you came in with, I know, but don’t start thinking of it as a crutch. That you'll stumbled and collapse to the ground without it. And you know what, you might. Just get right back up and try walking again. And I mean walking, not running. Pace yourself. With everything. Especially her,” Stiles nods toward the window indicating Gemma.

“Do you like her?”

“Of course I do. She’s lovely and smart. Plus, she kicks ass at charades.”

“You two are not allowed to be on the same team anymore.”

“And she loves you. That’s really all I give a shit about.”

“Thanks, Stiles.” Jackson tries poorly to hide a blushing smile.

“Here. Take these [sandwiches](http://partygoldcoast.com.au/party-ideas/recipes/kids/party-snacks/2072-2/) out there before Lee bites someone’s leg off.”

Jackson grabs the tray. He winks at Stiles before heading back out toward the pool.

 

* * *

1 month later…

 

“I, Jackson Henry Whittemore III, would like to declare, Gemma Katherine Mars, as my one and only mate,” he says, standing before Derek and Stiles. “She is bound to my wolf, just as I am bound to hers.”

“Gemma is this true? Do you feel bound to Jackson as his mate,” Derek asks.

“Yes,” she answers. “I love him. I am his, and he is mine.”

“Stiles. Objections,” Derek asks his husband.

“None,” he smiles.

“Gemma, there has been no objection to you joining this pack. You are welcomed here. Always. If you wish to make the Hale Pack your family, your home, and Jackson your mate, then I ask that you submit now, or refuse.”

“I choose to submit,” she says. She lowers to her knees and bows her head.

Derek’s claws extend. He scratches the back of her neck in one swift, bloody swipe.

Stiles rubs a potent cream on her scratches that makes Derek and Jackson scrunch up their noses.

“That should heal in a day or two,” Stiles whispers to her.

“You are now pack, and mated to beta Jackson Henry Whittemore III.”

“Thank you,” she says with teary eyes.

Derek helps her to her feet.

“Stiles. Anything to add?”

“Love is all the bad, scary things you’ve heard about it. But if you do it right, it’s all the great things you’ve heard about it, too. Respect one another and be the other’s anchor.”

“Yes, Alpha," Jackson and Gemma answer in unison.

“As True Alpha of the Hale pack of Northern California, I, Derek Stephan Hale, give my blessing for this mating.” Derek rubs his cheek against Gemma’s face.

“Thank you, Alpha Hale.”

Derek scent marks Jackson. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Derek.” He hugs his Alpha.

Stiles hugs Gemma. “Welcome to the family. Remember to keep this guy in check.”

“I plan on it.”

Jackson rolls his eyes at them.

Stiles and Jackson embrace.

“I love you, Jackie-boy.”

“…I love you, too, Stiles.”

Stiles immediately pulls back from Jackson, staring wide-eyed at him.

Jackson smirks. He’s never told Stiles that before, and he knows Stiles has been waiting years to hear it.

Stiles runs out of the room.

“Is-Is he okay,” Gemma asks.

“Yeah. Just a little beleaguered,” Derek smiles. He hears the happy sobs from his husband from the half-bathroom downstairs.

»»»   

Gemma clamped her thighs on Jackson’s hips as he dug into her, deep and hard.

“Fuck! Jackson!”

Jackson grabbed hold of the headboard with both clawed hands and snapped his hips rapaciously into her pussy.

Gemma dragged her nails down his back, leaving ‘passion scratches’ in their wake.

Jackson growled. One hand coming down to squeeze her large breast, pinching her nipple between his index and middle finger.

“Jackson… please…”

His hand moved from her breast to between her thighs. His hips still pounding against her with his long, hard cock driving in and out. His slick finger rubbed her swollen clit, making her bury the back of her head into the pillow, and bare her neck.

Jackson slid his incisors down her throat, marking her. Blood drizzled on the white, linen bedsheets.

He rubbed harder on her clit. Gemma's moans grew louder and louder.

Jackson pulled back to the tip of his cock, then slammed into her, hitting that magical spot with two fingers pressed against her clit. Then did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again. Until she seized under him with hands yanking on dirty blonde hair and a booming moaning echoing off the walls as her pussy tightened around his dick and made the spot beneath their joined bodies damp.

Jackson slid out then hovered up her naked body.

She was gorgeous, splayed out for him. Curves to every inch of her flesh, smooth and supple. Her breast were two large melons with large aureolas he spent a good few minutes suckling during their foreplay.

She had tried to cover herself with her hands after carefully taking her clothes off for him. She had a strong confidence in herself when she was in public, or with the pack, but when they were alone, she was a timid and delicate as an orchid.

She admitted to being scared when he commented on smelling her nervousness. "I don’t look like all the other girls you've dated before," she assumed. She was right. She doesn’t, but that’s what made her more beautiful in his eyes.

He loved every part of her, and thought it all sexy; wanting to taste traces of her skin he knew had never been properly explored.

He said it all to her; making her blush. She sat on the bed and held her hand out to him. Calling the wolf to take her.

Jackson stripped his dick feverishly.

“Scent me. Make me smell like yours.”

Jackson gripped the headboard with a hand, and howled as ribbons of hot balm painted Gemma’s breasts.

He retracted his claws to rub his cum into her peaches-and-cream skin.

She leaned up and kissed him, still able to taste herself on his tongue.

He rested his forehead against hers, trying to find his breath.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said against her lips.

“I want to submit now.”

He nodded. “Then can we sleep? I haven’t gone 3 times back-to-back in a while.”

“What about all that werewolf stamina,” she teased.

“I just gave it to you.”

She giggled.

Jackson managed to move from atop Gemma. He climbed off the bed and picked his jeans up off the floor, rummaging through the pants pocket. He pulled out a strip of notebook paper.

Gemma got down from the bed. “What do I do?”

“Kneel in front of me.”

She did.

“Gemma Katherine Mars,” he reads, “you have been declared as mine and mine alone. You have been claimed, and marked as mine and mine alone. Now, you must devote your whole and complete self to me, as I have devoted my whole and complete self to you, by making you mine. Do you belong to me and me alone?”

“Yes.”

“Have you forsaken all others?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me? As your ally through this world, as your friend, as your lover, and as your mate?

“Yes.”

“Then bare your neck, and submit to me.”

She tilts her head back, exposing her neck.

“Gemma Katherine Mars, you are my anchor. My tether for when the world around me gets too heavy and chaotic. I need you, as you need me. If bad luck should befall us, may we meet in another lifetime, stronger than before.”

Jackson dropped the slip of paper to the floor. He bit his own fingers and quickly ran the bloody digits from her trachea to just under her chin before his wounds could knit back together.

“I am lost without you.”

“And I will always find you,” she responded with soggy eyes.

He bent down, and kissed her.

“Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“…Will you marry me?”

It should have been the first thing he expected her to say, but still, he was stunned for a brief moment before a smile grew on his lips.

“What,” she asked.

“Certainty.”

“What about it?”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Until now?”

“Way before now. But you’ve helped.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

It was the biggest ‘yes’ on the planet.

“I fart in my sleep,” he said.

“I’m a terrible dancer.”

“I lie to my parents all the time.”

“My mom still thinks I’m a virgin.”

“I cried at the end of Finding Nemo.”

“I’ve never seen The Godfather, but I tell everyone I have.”

“I love my Alphas kids more than anyone else’s kids, even my sister’s three boys.”

“Jake is my favorite.”

He laughs.

She squeezed his hand.

“I used to be afraid people I’d love will do nothing but leave me,” he admits.

“I used to think I wasn’t good enough to love.”

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said, eyes glossy with tears.

“I’ll never abandon you,” she said, her heartbeat strong and true.

“…Yes. I will marry you.”

She smiled bright with watery, green eyes.

He kissed her.

Gemma deepened the kiss, pulling him down with her on the carpeted floor by the bed.

Jackson’s head swam with thoughts, flashbacks to red-headed girls with nerdy friends that became werewolves and Alphas. To a yoga instructor with platinum blonde hair that knew how to play the accordion. He thought of a curly-haired boy under moonlight, then a sexy brunette white water rafting with him. Then he thought of a young French boy with soft lips and a sweet soul.

And finally he thought about a curvy girl with pale green eyes, who loved sad, Billie Holiday songs and professed [pumpkin cheesecake](http://www.lifetasteslikefood.com/2012/11/30/pumpkin-cheesecake/) as “proof of God’s existence.” He thought of her and the strawberry smell of her hair, the wisteria scent of her skin, and how the fingertips on her left hand always smelled of ink. He thought of that girl and nothing else. She was all there needed to be on his mind.

Especially for round four.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the link for KAYA, Sebastien's mom, is of a Turkish actress named Ceyda Duvenci. The link for DR. BURAUN is of actress Vivian Wu (who I LOVED in The Joy Luck Club). The link for Peter's mate, YVETTE, is of actress/model Tika Sumpter. And the link for GEMMA is of plus-size model, Tara Lynn. 
> 
> I didn't link Cora's wife ZOE because I don't want to ruin it for later in PART TWO when I introduce her in the story.
> 
> Oh, and TATA means 'dad' in Polish.
> 
> Also (an unrelated), LOOKING on HBO was cancelled, ending my HONORABLE MENTION OTP, Patrick x Kevin. And DOWNTON ABBEY's next season will be it's last. I am sad-panda. 
> 
> Yet, the good news is that I've just discovered the UK shows: CUCUMBER, BANANA, and TOFU. Brilliant shows with amazing acting and sharp writing.
> 
> And thank you to sourwolfshoodie who always checks in when it's been far too long for an update.
> 
> p.s.-- Good for TH leaving that train wreck of a show. There's not enough amount of space here for me to explain why I feel that way, and all my theories as to why he left, but good one him either way. And I so called it, (2 years ago in a phone conversation with a friend, but that still counts!) when Ryan Kelley revealed MTV made the whole cast get Twitter accounts. I knew TH wouldn't do that willingly. He's a guy that likes his privacy; it's apparent social media isn't really his thing and makes him uncomfortable.


End file.
